


Spring

by AlphaEverthorne



Series: Fantasy Prompts [1]
Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaEverthorne/pseuds/AlphaEverthorne
Summary: "I remember the last spring," he said. "It was eighteen years ago."Prompt from blog.reedsy.com
Series: Fantasy Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667737





	Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in three different perspectives(in this order): the girl(Chika), the boy(Yuichi), and the boy's grandfather before the eternal winter happened. It takes place in a fantasy setting, where the Yuki-onna, a Japanese snow spirit, is featured.

The birds were gone. The trees were dead. And snow covered the ground in an everlasting blanket of white.

The wind howled around her, snow swirling around her in a mini whirlwind. she found her way back to her village, where her mother pounced on her. "Chika!" she screeched. "I told you not to go out in this weather!”

“But mom--” She was cut off by her mother ushering her into their house. 

“Hurry up and change before the cold takes you, too.”

* * *

The old man was sitting on the porch, a thick woollen blanket draped heavily across his shoulders. The boy ran up to him, two wooden cups of weak tea in his hands. “Grandpa,” he said, giving the tea to the old man, “Why is it always cold?”

The old man sighed, the cup held tight in his wrinkled hands. “It wasn’t always cold, Yuichi.” His gray eyes, shining with the wisdom of age, stared into the mug. “I remember the last spring,” he said. “It was eighteen years ago.”

* * *

He was with his best friend when it happened. They walked between the trees of the forest near their village, birdsong and butterflies flitting around their ears. “I’m glad winter is over,” were the last words that passed between them. 

A woman stood before them, her skin so pale it was nearly white, her silver hair flowing like water down to the ground. “People like you,” she said softly, in a voice so breathtakingly melodious yet void of any emotion, “Should learn to appreciate the cold.” She lifted her head, and they caught sight of cold blue pupils surrounded by the inky blackness of her scleras. One perfect hand lifted, her white lips curled into a small, delicate smile, and the snows came again, three weeks into spring. After that, no one heard the trills of birds singing to each other, smelled the sweet scent of summer blossoms, or admired the golden beauty of autumn leaves ever again.


End file.
